Under The Wishing Star

by Farr, Diane

  She chose to prolong it.

  Before long he was half in the water himself, leaning far over the tub to embrace as much of her as he could reach. “Natalie,” he muttered at last, “for God’s sake, either come out of the water or let me in there with you.”

  She gave a breathless little laugh. “No. I like this.”

  He growled, deep in his throat; a sound of frustration mixed with amusement. “I can wait,” he promised her. “That water will be stone cold in ten minutes. And meanwhile…” His voice became silky. “You can tell me what else you like.” He nuzzled her neck, lightly licking at the drops of water on her skin. “Do you like that?”

  “Mm.” It was difficult to reply, she liked it so well.

  “How about this?” He moved his mouth up to her ear and did something, she could not tell what, with his tongue. Natalie gasped and arched her back as pleasure shot through her. “And this?” He slid his fingers across the tips of her breasts and indescribable sensations swirled in their wake. She could not seem to catch her breath. His eyes, dark with hunger, stared at what his hands were doing. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her, and she could swear he meant it. “So beautiful.”

  He took her mouth again and, this time, as he kissed her, she let him pull her to her feet and out of the water. It had grown a little chilly, after all…

  * * *

  Natalie stretched, catlike, against the rumpled sheets in the warmth of afternoon. Daylight still stole dimly into Malcolm’s chamber, since they had never bothered to pull open the curtains. She rather liked the effect. It was strange that that masculine, claret-colored velvet stained the light a very feminine, very flattering, and highly romantic pink.

  Malcolm dozed beside her. She turned her head and studied his form where he lay, relaxed and disheveled and unaware of her scrutiny, as he had watched her this morning. Her heart swelled with love and sorrow at the sight of him—so dear to her, so desirable. And so unreachable.

  How could he make love to her that way, and yet not love her? It was unfathomable. She was thoroughly aware that her own desire, her response to him, everything that had happened in the past couple of hours, was inextricably tangled with her love for him. She had no doubt about that whatsoever. She would never have experienced those extraordinary heights of physical sensation absent the emotions that matched them. Without the love that she felt for Malcolm, what would marital intimacy be? She could not imagine it.

  At any rate, the question was moot. She did love him. She would never know what it felt like to share physical intimacy without love.

  Perhaps this —whatever it was—would be enough for her. She had to admit, it was all rather wonderful thus far. Malcolm could hardly treat her more tenderly or show her more consideration than he did now. He acted, for all the world, as if he did love her. It was most puzzling. Had he not told her, point-blank, that what he wanted was a marriage of convenience?

  She frowned, trying to remember. It was hard to trust her recollections. A cloud of emotion had risen up to choke her every time he mentioned marriage. Surely he had told her that he didn’t want a love match. Surely he had told her that love was nothing but a fantasy.

  On the other hand, he had told her once that he loved her.

  Natalie’s frown deepened. She didn’t like remembering that. It had been a particularly painful moment. She had made the mistake of telling him what she wanted from marriage, and he had pretended to give it to her. He had wanted her to wife, and had thought that was the best way to twist her arm. It had been a pathetic ruse, a disgusting attempt to deceive and manipulate her.

  Come to think of it…that didn’t sound like something Malcolm would do.

  No, that didn’t sound like Malcolm at all.

  Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Natalie felt her heart hammering in her chest. She stared at her dozing husband, wondering if it were possible she had been mistaken. It now struck her as unlikely—even disloyal on her part—to think that Malcolm would lie to her, let alone about something so important.

  What if he had spoken truth to her that day? Could that be possible?

  Oh, no—it couldn’t be. He had never mentioned it again. But, still…

  As if feeling her eyes on him, Malcolm stirred and reached for her. “I suppose,” he said sleepily, “that it’s high time we left our bedchamber.”

  She went willingly into his arms, but was still troubled. He opened his eyes and saw her expression. It seemed to shake the vestiges of slumber from his brain. His gaze sharpened. “What’s amiss?”

  Natalie’s eyes slid away from his. “Nothing.” She tried to smile. “I am embarrassed to face the staff after lying so long abed.”

  It was not a lie. But she did wish she had the courage to truly answer his question. Later, she promised herself. She sat up, shaking out her hair and combing it with her fingers.

  He watched her, an appreciative smile playing with the edges of his mouth. “You have the most amazing hair.”

  She pulled a face. “It’s nothing but a nuisance. All these wretched curls! Try as I might, they never do what I want them to do.”

  “Yes, that’s what I love about them.”

  Love. The word seemed to hang in the air between them, reverberating. She paused for a fraction of an instant, then continued her finger-combing, taking care not to meet his eyes.

  “Why is it,” she said lightly, “that everyone with curly hair admires straight hair, and everyone with straight hair admires curls?”

  “One of the perversities of nature,” he agreed, lying back against the pillows with his hands clasped behind his head. Natalie stole a glance at him, and could not help smiling. The pose brought every muscle in his arms and chest into bold relief; he looked gorgeously male. And very tempting.

  She moved off the bed, snatching up her dressing gown and wrapping it about her. “Well?” she said challengingly. “Do you plan to just lie there all day?”

  He gave her a languid smile. “I’m going to watch you dress, and help you with your laces. Since we haven’t hired a maid for you yet.”

  She arched a brow at him. “I wonder why we haven’t? Do you suppose it had anything to do with our leaving London too quickly?”

  “It might,” he said affably. “And since that was my fault, as I’m sure you are ready to tell me, I mean to make it up to you by performing the services myself.”

  She chuckled. “You’ll soon tire of that,” she remarked, digging in the trunks thrown open by the window. There had not been time to unpack them last night.

  She pulled out stockings, chemise, stays and petticoat, and was charmed when Malcolm was as good as his word, helping her to put them on. He did a creditable job of it, too. Of course, she didn’t care to dwell on where he must have learned those skills. The thought of Malcolm sharing a bedchamber with any woman other than herself was upsetting.

  She was less skillful when helping him dress, but they got through it—with quite a bit laughter and teasing. And kissing. Really, she had never dreamed that marriage would be so much fun.

  When they exited the room and strolled down the passage, Sarah pounced on them. “Where have you been?” she exclaimed. “I thought you had gone back to London, but Nurse said you had not.”

  Malcolm hefted her up. “We didn’t go anywhere. We were in bed, goosecap.” He planted a loud kiss on her cheek.

  Sarah squirmed, giggling, and wiped his kiss off with the back of her hand. He set her back on the floor. “I slept late, too,” she announced. “But not as late as you. Would you like to see my paintings?”

  Natalie and Malcolm exchanged surprised glances. “Your paintings?” he repeated. “What paintings do you mean?”

  Mrs. Bigalow stepped through the open door of the nursery. “It’s only watercolors, my lord,” she said briskly. “We found a paintbox in one of the drawers and I thought there’d be no harm in the child playin’ with it a bit. Seeing as how she’s so keen on drawing and sketching and that.” Her eyes narrowed
, twinkling, as she looked at Natalie—but she said nothing, much to Natalie’s relief. For half a second, she’d been afraid that Nurse would inquire point-blank how her wedding night had gone, or whether marriage agreed with her.

  They followed the frisking Sarah into the nursery and over to the table near the window. Sheets of paper lay helter-skelter on its surface, with jars of dirty water acting as paperweights. Natalie bent over the child’s work and, as her eyes made sense of what she saw, she felt her throat tighten with emotion. The work was remarkable for a girl of Sarah’s age. The child had an astonishing gift. But of the three adults gathered around the table, praising her, only Natalie understood just how remarkable Sarah’s gift was.

  Would Malcolm be angry at what she had done yesterday? She wished she knew. She would have to tell him before long, but she had not yet decided how best to broach the subject. He invariably fired up at any hint that there might be something wrong with his precious daughter. And after hearing Hector’s sneering assumptions that Sarah was feeble-minded, Natalie thought he had a right to be touchy. He was trying to protect his little girl from the ignorance and prejudice of small-minded people. But if she told him in just the right way, he would understand that there wasn’t anything actually wrong with Sarah ... at least, not in the way he feared.

  She couldn’t speak of it in front of Sarah. She had to explain it to Malcolm privately. But the moments came and went, and the right one never seemed to arrive. The next day passed, and the next, and still she had not told him. He never asked where she and Sarah had gone that day in London, so a natural beginning to the conversation did not occur—and Natalie was so preoccupied in adjusting to the novelty of being married that she did not press the issue.

  Shortly after luncheon one day, when Malcolm was stealing a kiss from her in the drawing room, a cough sounded in the doorway behind them. The cough was followed by Howatch’s voice.

  “Beg pardon, my lord, but there’s a Mr. Whittaker here to see you and Lady Malcolm. And a pair of ladies with him,” he added. “I know you said to turn visitors away, but I wondered if, under the circumstances—”

  Natalie and Malcolm turned in unison, Natalie hastily patting her hair into place. “A pair of ladies?” she repeated in astonishment. “Why would Hector bring a pair of ladies with him?”

  Howatch looked slightly offended. “It’s not Mr. Hector Whittaker, my lady. I am acquainted with Hector Whittaker, and I don’t know this gentleman. Nor, I might add, do I know the ladies with him.” Seeing the baffled expressions on his employers’ faces, he added helpfully, “It’s quite a young gentleman, sir. And, if I might be so bold as to venture an opinion, he bears a strong resemblance to Lady Malcolm.”

  “Derek!” exclaimed Natalie. “What on earth—”

  “Show him into the library, Howatch,” interrupted Malcolm. “You were right to admit him, of course. We’ll be down in half a minute.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Natalie checked her reflection in the mirror on the wall and absently tugged at her bodice. “How odd of Derek to arrive without warning. I wonder what brings him here? Now that I have a home of my own, mayhap I will invite him to stay here rather than at Crosby Hall. You would not mind that, would you? I own, I would like to have him under our roof for a while. I thought he looked too thin when I saw him last.”

  “It will be as you wish, of course.” Malcolm held the door for her and they started down the stairs together. “Does he make a habit of popping in unannounced?”

  “No, it’s most unlike him. In fact, he rarely comes home at all. He is kept so busy! Last year he even spent Christmas with Lord Stokesdown.”

  “I daresay he’s just paying a bridal visit.”

  Natalie looked skeptical. “So soon after seeing us in London? And who could the two ladies be? I confess, I am mystified.”

  “Well, we’ll know soon enough,” said Malcolm, standing aside to let her pass before him into the library.

  As expected, the young man Howatch had announced was Derek. He stood by the fireplace and looked up when she passed into the room. But she had never seen such an expression on his face—tense and deadly serious. She paused in mid-stride, surprised. “Why, Derek, how are you? Welcome to Larkspur. What brings you to…”

  Her voice died away as her eyes fell on Derek’s companions. One was an elderly woman of respectable, but modest, appearance who rose courteously to her feet as Natalie entered the room. This woman was a stranger. But the other…the lady who remained seated, turning vacant eyes upon her and giving her a vague smile…this lady resembled…

  No. This lady was.

  A strange roaring sound filled Natalie’s ears, and the room suddenly turned gray before her eyes. As her vision dimmed she thought she heard Derek’s voice. It was sharp with anxiety, but seemed to be coming from a great distance.

  Chapter 22

  “Catch her, Malcolm!”

  Derek had already started toward Natalie as he spoke, but Malcolm was closer. In two quick strides he overtook his swaying wife and held her up. She had turned a ghastly color and was almost limp in his arms.

  “What the deuce—! Natalie, are you all right?”

  “It’s the shock,” said Derek grimly. “Sorry! But there wasn’t time to send word ahead, to warn her. And besides that, I needed to be certain.” He took a deep breath. “Now I am certain. Natalie’s reaction has confirmed it.”

  “Confirmed what?” Malcolm’s voice sounded sharper than he intended. “If you’ve harmed her in any way, Whittaker, you’ll pay for it. Brother or no.” He half-carried Natalie to a sofa and laid her tenderly upon it, supporting her head with a fat cushion Derek silently passed to him. “Natalie,” he said gently. “Natalie. Are you coming round?”

  “Yes,” she said faintly. “I think I—oh.” She lay back against the cushion, still visibly pale. “Malcolm.” She clung to his hand.

  “I’m here, love.”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t,” he said, with great vehemence. “Ever.”

  “What happened?”

  The elderly woman moved diffidently forward. “If I might be so bold,” she said, holding out a small vial she had taken from her reticule. “I’ve a vinaigrette, if you think it would help the dear lady.”

  “Thank you,” said Malcolm gruffly. He took it and held it beneath Natalie’s nose.

  Natalie pulled a face, coughed, and turned her head away. “Thank you,” she said feebly. “I’m quite all right. Thank you.” She opened her eyes dazedly. “Who are you?”

  The elderly woman gave a sympathetic cluck. “I’m Mrs. Gilford, dearie, but don’t you worry about that now.” Her manner was both kind and efficient, and Malcolm instinctively stepped aside to let Mrs. Gilford, whoever she was, perch on the sofa beside Natalie. He was still holding one of Natalie’s hands, but Mrs. Gilford took the other in a firm, professional-looking grip and laid her fingers against Natalie’s wrist to feel her pulse. “Still a bit rapid,” she remarked. “I suggest we let her lie quietly for a bit.”

  “Right.” Malcolm stared at her, feeling almost as disoriented as Natalie. “What are you? A nurse?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  He glanced up at Derek, who was hovering behind the sofa with an anxious expression, his eyes on his sister. “Care to explain?” asked Malcolm dryly.

  “Eh?” Derek looked at him blankly, then flushed. “Oh! Sorry. Lord Malcolm, this is Mrs. Gilford, a—a friend of the family. Mrs. Gilford, my brother-in-law, Lord Malcolm Chase. And my sister, Lady Malcolm.”

  Natalie did not stir, but Malcolm bowed as well as he could from a sitting position and Mrs. Gilford nodded courteously. He then jerked his chin to indicate the other woman, who had not moved from her chair and seemed oblivious to the excitement going on across the room from her. Derek swallowed convulsively. “I believe,” he said hesitantly, “that the other lady is—is my mother.”

  Malcolm felt his jaw drop. His eyes immediately return
ed to Natalie, lying white-faced and motionless before him. She seemed to be conscious, but still recruiting her strength.

  Derek continued speaking, his voice low and troubled. “It sounds incredible, I know. I wasn’t sure, myself, until a few moments ago. But Natalie is a year older than I, and I knew her memory of our mother would be clearer than mine. So I brought the ladies here, and, well, you see the result.”

  “Then it’s true,” said Natalie in a low voice. “I thought I dreamed it.” Her eyes fluttered open and focused, more strongly than before, first on Malcolm and then on Derek. “Where is she? Let me go to her.”

  She struggled to sit up. Mrs. Gilford moved to prevent her from rising, however, saying in a firm, compassionate voice, “Take care, my lady. You’ve waited this long to see her. You can wait a moment longer. There’s no need to make yourself unwell.”

  Natalie obediently remained seated, pressing one hand to her forehead. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never swooned like that before.”

  “Well, now,” said Mrs. Gilford comfortably. “Anyone would. It’s a terrific shock you’ve had, my dear. I daresay your brother would have reacted the same, had he recognized her right off, the way you did.”

  “But it’s impossible.” Natalie’s hand dropped and her eyes traveled painfully to Derek’s face. “Our mother is dead,” she whispered numbly.

  Derek came around the sofa and sat on a hassock at Natalie’s feet, bringing his eyes level with hers. He leaned forward earnestly. “Natalie, they lied to us.” His warm brown eyes were full of trouble. “Mother wasn’t killed when the gig overturned. They wouldn’t let us see her, remember? They carried her home and shut her in her bedchamber, and they wouldn’t let us see her.”

  “But…but that was to protect us.” Natalie’s expression was bewildered. “We were so young. Too young to understand. She lingered for a while, but then she…she passed on. They didn’t want us to see her like that.”